


Magic

by gorey



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorey/pseuds/gorey
Summary: King Arthur (2004 movie) AU.  Tristan is a witch.  Galahad is young and foolish to go into the woods alone.





	Magic

**Author's Note:**

> There won't be anything explicit in this introductory bit, but it's coming. Magic is, too.

                Galahad made his way through the forest, a hum on his lips and a bit of a bounce in his step.  He was feeling merry, the air colder now as the season was in the process of changing.  No better time to travel, he had decided, than the first weeks of Autumn.  It was a couple days’ walk to the town with the good taverns, but it was always worth it, and he had heard news that Dagonet was visiting.  Dagonet could be good fun when he wanted to, and Galahad was always glad to see a friend.

                The journey would admittedly go faster if he took a horse and followed the path, but Galahad sometimes felt what he referred to as the Forest’s call – the intense desire to go into the trees and lose himself for a while.  Nature was nurture, and becoming one with it on occasion was a cleansing experience. 

                It had been several months since Galahad’s last venture on foot through the wild alone, and never before had he gone completely off the path to get to this town.  Still, the young man was certain he could find his way.

                Half a day into his trek, Galahad found himself wanting a short rest.  He shrugged off his pack and sat upon a fallen tree, fishing out an apple and relaxing as he took large bites.  Dappled sunlight made patterns on the grass, and Galahad allowed himself to let his mind and eyes wander. 

                Before finishing his little snack, he felt as though he were being watched, and glanced up, spotting a pretty hawk observing him from a low branch on a tree some yards away.  She regarded him with what Galahad could have sworn was scorn. 

                “What?  I see you’re resting as well,” Galahad said, and made a whistling noise at her.  She appeared indignant, and preened.  Odd, how the bird seemed to understand – and perhaps she could, the young man supposed, as he’d always found that animals seemed to know more than they let on.

                Galahad bit off a chunk of apple and tossed it toward her, questioning himself as he did so.  Hawks didn’t even eat fruit, he was certain.  She regarded it for a moment before spreading her wings, quickly fetching the piece of fruit and flying away, leaving Galahad to wonder at the bird, as well as himself.

                Eventually Galahad rose, continuing south.  A few times, he thought he heard something following, but when he stopped to look or waited and listened, it would always just be a small animal or nothing at all. 

                When night fell, it was time to stop.  Galahad found a spot to pitch a small tent, near a little lake.  He recognised this lake, having gone for a dip in it before, though he couldn’t remember exactly when or how long ago. 

                Galahad stripped off his clothing, leaving it in a pile on the grass and waded into the water until it was up to his navel.  He looked up at where the moon sat in the sky, bathing him and the water in her silvery light.  Humming again now, Galahad proceeded to go about wetting his curly hair.

                When he rose from the water and shook hair from his eyes, Galahad thought he caught a glint of something in the trees.  Wet, like eyes.  Galahad froze, peering into the darkness where he just barely thought he could make out the shape of something – suddenly, a shadow flew overhead, tearing his gaze upwards.  A hawk flew over, carrying something in its talons… a… tunic?  No, make that _his_  tunic. 

                “Blasted bird!” Galahad shouted, hurrying to get out of the water.  He searched for a rock or stick to throw at the damn winged creature but it was already too far gone. Uttering bewildered curses, he padded over to his tent and his bag to get out a new tunic, slipping it on over his head. 

                Forgetting all about the figure he thought he had seen on the other side of the lake, Galahad crawled into his little tent and shut it, but did not get to sleep quickly.  He wondered if it was the same bird from earlier in the day – and if so, why would it take his clothing?

                Galahad was always quick to fall asleep, and tonight was no exception.  His dreams were full of shadowy birds and things in the trees, the scent of earth and sweet tree bark, and the brush of something warm over his chest, his throat, and then finally on his mouth – which made him wake with a start.  _His mouth was being covered._

                His eyes couldn’t adjust in the dark well enough to see who was halfway inside of his small tent.  “Mmph,” was all Galahad could get out, and immediately tried to grab them, punch them.  With a very quick move, the larger person pinned him. 

                “Shush, lad,” a voice that was growling and still somehow soft chastised him.  “I’m not interested in hurting you.” 

                Galahad did not stop struggling, thinking that if that were true, he wouldn’t be pinned right now.

                “My bird stole your clothes,” they said, and for a moment Galahad did not understand, and then he recalled the hawk.  He stopped trying so hard to get the man off.  “I wanted to return it to you.” 

                His mouth was finally uncovered, and Galahad spoke angrily, “Get off of me!” 

                The man atop him, whom he could sort of see now, clucked and tilted his head.  “I thought you would be pleased to have it returned.” 

                “Be much more pleased if you would get.  Off.  Of.  Me,” the younger man reiterated.

                The stranger paused for a moment, but then obliged, moving out of the tent and rising.  Galahad felt around in the dark for his sheathed dagger, grabbing it and scrambling out of the tent, nearly destroying it.  He hopped up, ready for a fight, but upon scanning the area, found that the man was already several yards away, leaning on a tree.  How had he moved so fast? 

                “What?  Do you desire a spar?”  That hushed, low voice somehow made its way to Galahad with perfect clarity.  The hawk flew down from the tree he was leaning against, and landed on his shoulder.

                The younger man slowly lowered his dagger, frowning.  “That really is your bird?”

                The man nodded, giving her a stroke.  “She is.  And she’s a thief.  But I have returned your tunic.”  He gestured, and Galahad’s gaze followed, seeing now that the long shirt was hanging from a tree branch over his tent.

                “Could you not have just – “ Galahad began to speak, but when he looked back, the stranger was gone.  He spun around in a circle, walked around in his bare feet and searched – but somehow, the man had just simply dissolved into the shadows. 

 


End file.
